Eli turns thirteen, and Samuel Mariño enchants
There are times I curse this lunatic city, choked with condo construction, struggling with iffy transit under a provincial government actively working to make life here worse. But then there are times I marvel at my luck in living here. Yesterday afternoon, Jean-Marc and I went to gorgeous Koerner Hall; he’d been given tickets to a Tafelmusik concert. I love Tafelmusik but truthfully was dubious about this event, featuring a male soprano.
Well, colour me thrilled; it was quite stunning. Samuel Mariño, a lovely young Venezuelan, walked onstage in a floor-length skirt slit far up one side, twinkling very high heels, and a sheer net top revealing what looked startlingly like small breasts, though JM said they were pectoral muscles. And then he opened his mouth and out poured a glorious, if occasionally harsh, soprano voice. I had to look up the difference between a counter tenor, who sings in falsetto, and a male soprano who has a naturally high voice. When Samuel spoke, we heard that his speaking voice is high. That’s how he was made.
What also was interesting about the program was its inclusion of two female composers I’d never heard of, Marianne Martines (1755-1812) and Maria Walpurgis (1724-1780.) The first and second violins of the orchestra are women, as is the diminutive double bassist. Love it.
Samuel spoke movingly about how welcome and safe he feels in Canada. You’re welcome back any time, young man.
Another big event: Eli’s 13th birthday party on Saturday. Once again, I marvel at my daughter’s mad generosity and expertise at party throwing; by the time I left, there were over twenty kids careening around the yard and the house, jumping on the trampoline that was my birthday present to both boys, or playing basketball, or inside the small apartment playing computer games, plus a crowd of mothers in the living room with babies and toddlers. Anna feeds everyone – huge tubs of potato, pasta, and Caesar salads and coleslaw, cut up fruit and veg, and outside, Thomas or Sam barbecuing hotdogs, burgers, and marinated jerk chicken. One tub with alcoholic drinks on ice for grownups and the other with pop for kids. Great was the joy.
It takes a village, as they say. Anna has fostered a close, caring village around her kids and all the other kids. One woman, who has an autistic son Eli’s age, has just taken over care of and will try to adopt an eight-week-old baby girl abandoned by her meth-addicted mother; that lucky babe was cooed over and cuddled by just about every woman there, all looking after their own and everyone else’s children. It did my heart good.
And in the middle, Elijah, handsome, officially taller than I am, and inarticulate. I know many boys don’t talk much, but this boy is truly determined to reveal nothing in speech. How are you? Good. How does it feel to be a teenager? Good. What was the best thing about your party? I asked him last night. I don’t know, he said. A pause. Jumping on the trampoline.
Good answer, and good to hear four words put together.
Below: Ben, who barely left the trampoline the entire afternoon, in the air; Eli in blue; the bedroom; the gang.
We’ve had a week of rain — of course the sump pump broke again — but all is well and the sun is out; it’s going to be 22 today. My viburnum has a serious bug infestation and so does the Mugo pine. The trees at the back have grown so thick and high, there’s not enough sun for my poor veg patch.
But the William Morris rose – ah, the rose. Can’t wait for her to unfurl her beauty for our delight.
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